


Ilum

by Spera_via



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 12:32:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9323780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spera_via/pseuds/Spera_via
Summary: Between the fall of the Order and entering the Asylum, Agent Tris'tio had some pretty interesting adventures. On Ilum, he realized that the mask he wore was not going to hide away how he truly felt. A part of him died, so another could be reborn.





	1. Chapter 1

Trist huddled inside the mouth of the cave, shivering despite his heavy winter gear. The stars glittered coldly and fell like starships across the bright gash of galaxy in the night sky. 

“Why did I come to Ilum again?” Trist grumbled as he pulled the collar of his jacket closer to his neck. “Why do I do this to myself?” 

The planet didn’t respond. Trist sighed. He knew exactly why he was there. Ilum was remote and big. It was easy to avoid anyone on Ilum if you really wanted to. 

And Tris really wanted to. 

The Order was lost. The remnants of intel were camping in the middle of the woods, losing faith with each passing day. His brother was dead. There was no news on the fleet.

Here in the quiet of the crystalized wasteland, he could think. He could watch the stars fall and the wind scream through the snow. He could get away from any other distraction that tried to take up space in his mind.

Unfortunately, it was cold! Trist groaned internally and pressed himself closer to the wall. This cave was as good as any to crash in that night. Not caring for more than a place to sleep for the evening, Trist didn’t bother exploring the back tunnels that he knew threaded their way under the surface of the planet. As long as he stayed stealthed and tucked behind his rocks, he knew he’d be fine for the evening. Taking a last look at the stars before closing his eyes, the agent let himself drift into a light sleep.


	2. 2

Trist jumped awake, blinking furiously behind the mask of his helmet. The cold bit at him through his jacket, causing him to sigh and press his face into his hands to take inventory.

He can’t have slept more than a few hours. He pulled off his helmet, the action breaking him out of stealth, and rubbed his eyes. He was still tucked behind his rocks. Still stealthed. Stiffness didn’t make a person jerk awake from a sleep. 

He looked up at the sky. The stars were bright against the darkness. Still cold. Still falling.

The dream he was having was pleasant. Something about colors and lights. He ran a hand over his face and frowned.

So what was it?

Suddenly a scream pierced the night air. It rushed past Trist and out the mouth of the cave before the cold air swallowed it up. He jumped and looked into the depths of the cave, heart pounding. Silence settled over his hiding place. The agent continued to stare down the darkness, eyes narrowed.

Another scream sprinted forward. Like a wave, it washed over him, then vanished. Trist rose, putting his helmet on in a fluid motion. He stepped forward, ignoring his protesting muscles, and in the same motion, vanished.

Down the passage he went, following the echos of the last scream.

Just when he seemed to lose the trail, another cry rang out. Frowning under his helmet, Trist quickened his pace. 

The tunnels wove together, and often times the agent had to double back after hitting a dead end. 

Finally, he rounded a corner and found himself stepping into the largest cavern yet. Machines hummed quietly in the darkness. By their dim glow, Trist could see many computers, analyzers, and tables with straps situated under giant spiders of twisted metal.


	3. 3

“No! No! Please!” 

Strapped to a metal table in the center of the chamber, was a young woman. Her chocolate hair was plastered to her face with sweat. Her face was contorted in pain. She wore the leggings and shirt that troopers wore under their armor. 

“My dear.” A soft voice answered her. “If I haven’t stopped now, do you think anything will sway my mind?”

Standing over the girl, dark tendrils snaking from her outstretched hands to her victim, was the most pale Sith that Trist had ever seen. Her white hair fell wildly around her shoulders and sallow face. It blended in with her pale clothing. Her eyes were the only thing that seemed to have color. They were red. Red and so bright that the agent could see them glitter across the room.

The girl on the table screamed again. Trist watched in horror as her face seemed to age before his eyes. Streaks of gray threaded their way through her hair. 

The White Sith stopped after a moment. The darkness faded into her body, leaving her as pale as before. The girl sobbed quietly on the table.

“You’re lucky.” The Sith told her. Her tone was almost soothing. “You don’t get to die this night.” She lovingly caressed her victim’s face. 

Trist felt his skin crawl. 

He watched until the Sith’s robes vanish around a corner. Time passed as he hid behind the corner. Waiting. Listening.

The Sith wasn’t returning.


	4. 4

Trist, his mind made up, stepped quietly away from the wall. He palmed a knife as he approached the weeping girl. 

“Hey.” He said quietly as he appeared next to the girl. She jumped and looked at him wildly. “It’s okay!” Trist told her, his voice still low. “I’m getting you out of here.” 

He began to cut through the straps holding her to the table.

“What’s your name?” Trist asked kindly as he worked. 

“C-Cecilia. Cecilia Hartwell.” She tried to swallow.

Trist, having cut her bonds, began to check her vitals. 

“What are you doing on Ilum, Cecilia?” He asked her conversationally. 

Her breathing was shallow.

“I’m a trooper in squad 24.”

Weak pulse.

“We were sent to scout out new mining sites.”

Dilated eyes.

“A storm blew in. I got separated.” 

Dehydrated.

“Okay.” Trist said, stopping her from continuing. “I’m getting you out of here.”

“But Syrelle-”

“Doesn’t matter. Hold on.”

He pulled the girl onto his back, activated his stealth generator, and hauled her from the cavern. He paused at the mouth of the cave to cover her in his winter coat. His dark, long-sleeved shirt wouldn’t be much protection in the cold, but, if he were being honest with anyone, he could take it longer than the girl could.


	5. 5

Once she was back on his back, Trist activated his stealth generator again and headed out into the cold. The first hit from the cold had him clenching his jaw in pain. They needed to find shelter. Fast.

Preferably shelter a far way away from that White Sith.

With that in mind, the agent began to jog. The only thought on his mind: get away.

Trist lost count of how far or how long he carried the girl. Her shallow breathing on his neck was a constant reminder that he had to keep moving. In the back of his head, questions began to form.

What, in the name of the Flame, was he going to do with a Republic trooper? Ransom was out of the question. She needed more medical assistance than he could provide and sooner than any ransom could get her. He chuckled at the idea of marching into a Republic base with a wounded trooper over his shoulder. 

Trist grunted and shifted the girl on his back. Where, even, were they? Where was the nearest base? 

I had the reputation of keeping someone alive, as long as they were on the field. Trist thought to himself. Now, here I am wandering around another frigid wasteland with no supplies and another half-dead person on my b-

The ground exploded at his feet. Trist felt the girl fly from his grip as the starry sky filled his vision. He hit the snow with a grunt and rolled with the impact. Pushing himself to his hands and knees, Trist looked wildly around.

He saw the girl a few feet away from him. She, too, had rolled when she hit the snow. Time slowed as his eyes met hers. They were open. Glassy. Reflecting his searching gaze. 

He briefly wondered how long she’d been dead for when something clamped around his throat and yanked him into the air. 

“You dare!” The White Sith shrieked at him. “You dare interrupt my rituals! You dare steal my youth!” 

Trist struggled to breathe. He watched helplessly as she approached, her anger fading into interest as she inspected him.

“An agent?” She tilted her head and touched her chin. “You could be very useful to me.” 

Gray tinged Trist’ vision. He had to do something. Anything.


	6. 6

His grasping fingers found the hilt of a dagger. With a quick motion, he sent the blade spinning towards his captor.

She stopped it. In doing so, lost her grip on Trist. He fell to the ground. In his moment of freedom, Trist activated his stealth generator and vanished on the spot. Without waiting to see what would happen next, he was on the move. 

Half-crouching, half sprinting, Trist crossed the snow…

And skidded to a stop at the top of a canyon. 

In another situation, it would have been breathtaking. Stars that formed an arm of the galaxy seemed to spill into the silvery crevice. Crystals of various colors and sizes jutted out in lines and angles, reflecting the beauty of the sky in their translucent faces. 

It would have been even more breathtaking if Trist weren’t hit with another wave of the Force that sent him head over heels into it. 

He was thankful for the crystals he ran into on the way down. They broke his fall. 

They also broke a few ribs, his probes, and his stealth generator. 

Trist landed with a groan in the middle of a maze. Crystals rose from the ground around him. His reflection stared at him from every angle as he picked himself up and dusted the snow from his body. 

Green, red, and blue versions of him looked around.

 

“Tris’tio.” The White Sith called to him through the maze. Trist froze, feeling utterly exposed. “I know you.” Her voice echoed through the frozen air.

He shook his head to clear it and began to move again. The army of reflections ducked and weaved through the crystals with him.

“You, who heal to hide that you kill. You, who protect to hide that you betray. Oh yes Trist’tio! I know you! The spirits of the Force know all about you! They whisper in my ears.”

Trist rounded a corner, searching wildly through copies of his own face for the White Sith. 

He felt a hand on the back of his neck. A vice, clamping down. Nails biting into his skin. 

How is she so strong? Trist wondered as the White Sith yanked him sideways. He lost balance and fell to his knees. She tore his mask from his face and pressed a knee over his calves to keep him on the ground. 

With one hand restraining his arms and the other buried in his hair, she turned him to look at their reflections in one of the giant mirrors around them. 

“Look at yourself! Look into your eyes and confront what you really are!” Trist met his own red gaze. His scars seemed to stand out against his skin, glowing faintly in the darkness. He could see anger. He could see fear. The White Sith shook his head slightly.

“You are no Doctor as you claim!” She shouted, her red eyes wild. “You couldn’t save the girl! The Ortolans! Your comrades! You’re a snarl! A Web! A Nexus in the dark!”

“No!” Trist shouted. Lightning crackled from her fingers and exploded over his body, causing him to yell as his body jerked and twitched involuntarily. 

“Look at yourself Trist’tio! Do not deny who you are!” She shrieked. Trist breathed heavily, his muscles aching.

When she realized he was weak from her attacks, she sighed gently, letting go of his hair and tracing a pale finger down his scars. 

“Your face is like a doll that has been bashed against the pavement.” She said to him as he tried to find any shred of strength remaining. “All these cracks, self inflicted, and clumsily glued back together. You think they make you what you are? You think you’ve used those experiences to your advantage?”

Her voice became soothing. Persuasive.

“Feel your fear. Feel your anger. I can help you hone your skills.” She pressed her cheek against his, their eyes meeting through their reflections. “Join me Trist’tio. Become my agent and you will know unimaginable power.” 

Trist watched, in the crystal, as the air darkened around the White Sith. He watched as it began to fall over him and seep into his skin. 

“Feel the darkness Trist’tio. It bubbles beneath the surface. Let it boil! Let it go!”

In a rush, the darkness vanished into his body.


	7. 7

It felt like every drop of blood was on fire. It felt like a blizzard running through his veins. He yelled again, the pain blurring his vision. His fingers seemed to find their way around the hilt of another dagger. 

The pain cleared immediately. The White Sith was screaming. Trist staggered to his feet as pale smoke seemed to stream from the dagger buried in his attacker’s side. 

He didn’t give her a chance to recover. The agent jumped at the Sith, another dagger in hand. He tackled her into the snow, dagger flashing in the air. 

Red on silver. Smoke in the air.

He was blasted off of her. Trist yelped as he was slammed, bodily, into a crystal’s face and dropped back into the snow. He groaned as pain coursed through his body, struggled to rise and failed before rolling onto his back. There was no way he could go on. There was no way a body could take what he just put his through and simply walk away.

The stars swam in front of his eyes. 

There was no help coming, he realized. He was going to die here, under the stars. In the snow. How appropriate. Trist thought. 

The sky was blocked by a sea of white. Red stared down at him. Pin-pricks in the distance.

“It’s not too late, Trist’tio.” The White Sith told him gently. She rested a hand on his forehead. “I can still save you.” 

The red seemed to glow brighter. Pressure began to build under his skull. 

“Just give in.” The soothing voice said. “Just give in and you will feel no more pain.”

The white and red blurred. Trist tasted metal. Someone began to yell. The pressure vanished. 

F R E E

The word seemed to burst from all around them. The crystals mixed into the stars.

YOU HAVE HELD US FOR TOO LONG

Trist clenched his teeth as each syllable seemed to pulse in his aching bones. 

WE WILL HAVE OUR REVENGE

More screaming, Trist turned his head and his reflection stared back at him.

Red eyes glassy. Blood trickling from a cut above his eye. He watched a trail of red snake into a scar and trail into the snow.

He watched as a white figure dropped to the ground behind him, a circle of blue around it. One by one, the faces turned to look at him. Trist returned his gaze to the sky.

“You are thinking that, at the very least, this is better than the death you had planned for yourself. Are you not?” 

The voice echoed around him, gentler this time. It sighed. Trist watched as a masked face appeared over him. 

“She was right, you know.” It said. He said, Trist realized. “You aren’t a doctor.” 

A woman’s laugh sounded behind him. He couldn’t feel his hands. 

“He hits too hard to be a doctor.” The woman said, almost conversationally. 

“And carries a storm under his breast.” A third voice said. 

In his mind’s eye, Trist could see himself enclosed in wind. A storm around him, leaving clear skies and flowers after his rain. The image faded revealing the ghostly mask above him.

"Well then, we are in quite the predicament aren't we?" It said.


	8. 8

"It is because of him that we are free.” The first speaker said. “That is worthy of some boon.”

The face above him vanished revealing the stars above him.

This isn’t so bad. Trist thought as he watched the stars blur together. He felt as if he were floating, or falling. He couldn’t tell.

“It has been decided.” He heard the third voice say. “We will give you your life.”

Warmth flooded through his limbs, his aching muscles easing. The broken bones mending. The wind seemed to pick up around him. The stars burned brighter in the sky. 

The next thing Trist knew, he was laying in the snow on top of the canyon. He blinked and pushed himself to his knees, hissing as his stiff muscles protested. Looking around, he spotted his winter jacket laying a few feet away. 

As if to encourage him to put it on, a harsh wind blew over him, sending the agent scrambling for the coat. He sighed in relief as he pulled it on, trying to fight the shivers that made his hands tremble and teeth chatter. He crossed his arms and folded his body over his knees and silently began to piece together what had happened. Shaking his head in disbelief, Trist shoved his hands into his pocket.

Another surprise, his gloves were stashed there, as if someone knew he would look there first. 

When he yanked them out to put them on, something silver jingled out of his pocket and landed in the snow. Trist blinked at the small hole and scooped the item up.

It was Cecila Hartwell’s dogtags. 

Trist would later learn that all his knives that were lost, all of his probes that were broken, had almost been replaced on his person, waiting to be used again.


End file.
